


Intimate Knowledge

by xpityx



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 16:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18574945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx
Summary: "Geralt, did you or did you not suggest to Lord Voorhis that you have intimate carnal knowledge of me?" Emhyr demanded."Well." Geralt shifted in his chair a little. "I don't think I phrased it like that."





	Intimate Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashtreeowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtreeowl/gifts).



> My fic for the [Fandom Trumps Hate 2019](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) fan auction. Thank you to [ashtreeowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtreeowl) for both bidding on my auction and for the excellent prompt (fake dating, reluctant allies to lovers, trolling) - I hope I've done it justice!
> 
> Thank you to [SlumberousTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlumberousTrash) for the why-are-there-so-many-commas-beta, and many thanks to the mighty [Merulanoir](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir) for the did-this-make-more-sense-in-your-head-beta ^^ All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Fair warning: this is slightly ridiculous...

 

The sunlight was streaming through the window behind Emhyr, casting his face into deep shadow and making Geralt squint. It was appropriate lighting for Emhyr who was in a foul temper, as angry as Geralt had ever seen him. Geralt was glad at least that his mutations meant that his hangover was only a mild headache. However, coupled with the knowledge that he had truly fucked up the evening before had left him feeling more than a little nauseous.

 

"Geralt, did you or did you not suggest to Lord Voorhis that you have intimate carnal knowledge of me?"

 

They had been circling around the issue of what exactly Geralt had said for the better part of half an hour, Geralt trying his best to avoid this very question. As much as some of the later parts of the evening were a comforting blur, he remembered this part with unfortunate clarity.

 

"Well." Geralt shifted in his chair a little. "I don't think I phrased it like that."

 

Ciri had somehow managed to escape this debriefing by having what he hoped was an excruciating breakfast with her future in-laws. Their slightly tipsy plan had gone somewhat awry the night before when Lord Voorhis had insisted on making a very public toast to Geralt and Emhyr's relationship. Or perhaps it had been earlier than that, when he and Ciri had decided that the best way to upset her fiance's hideously snobbish parents was for Geralt to be, well Geralt.

 

"I imagine that I will regret this question, but how exactly did you phrase it?"

 

Geralt took a deep breath. There was nothing for it, he was just going to have to say it.

 

"I said that the length of your chain of office had nothing on your cock."

 

Emhyr blinked.

 

"I'm sure there was reasoning behind this plan of yours, though for the life of me I'm unable to see it. I can, however, very clearly see the consequences of it."

 

At the time, Lord Voorhis' spluttering and his wife's fixed smile had made his escalating behaviour worth it. Ciri had radiated silent amusement from her place on her fiancé's arm, which possibly encouraged Geralt to depths he might not have otherwise breached. Now, however, Emhyr was truly angry about the whole thing. Geralt had already apologised. He'd even offered to go apologise to House Voorhis, though he hadn't been sure when he'd offered if he'd actually be able to do it.  

 

He tried again. "Look, it just got a little out of hand, I'm sure by the time I'm an hour outside of the Capital, everyone will be onto the next piece of gossip."

 

"Well, I am sure they will not," Emhyr said, pulling a heavy cord which caused tinny bells to ring in the distance. Mererid arrived as if by portal.

 

"Your Majesty?"

 

"Move Geralt's belongings into my own chamber, and have the tailor prepare something suitable to wear for tonight's entertainment."

 

"Very well, your Majesty," Mererid said before bowing himself out of the room again.

 

"Er, what?"

 

 

  


Somehow, this was all Ciri's fault. Once he had escaped the tender mercies of Emhyr's tailor, he tracked her down to her solarium to tell her exactly that. She had a slightly different take on the evening, however.

 

"I said, ‘let's introduce you to Lord Voorhis and see how long it takes you to offend him.' Notice how different that sentence is to ‘let's introduce you to Lord Voorhis so you can get drunk and wax lyrical on the subject of my father's cock'".

 

"I wasn't drunk," Geralt replied.

 

Ciri raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

 

"And I didn't talk about Emhyr's cock."

 

She raised the other eyebrow.

 

"That much," he added.

 

He had known that House Voorhis were less than pleased with the wedding contract that had been drawn up between Ciri and Morvran, but he had not imagined that the situation was so delicate. Apparently Geralt had wandered into the middle of a power struggle between House Emreis and House Voorhis, and Emhyr seemed determined to share the pain. It was unlikely the Voorhis’ would stay longer than the traditional four weeks, Geralt reasoned, and he was almost a hundred percent sure that Emhyr didn't actually mean for them to share a bed.

 

"I can't believe you agreed to continue the farce, I'm sure the whole thing would be forgotten in no time if you went back to the Path," Ciri said, pouring herself a drink.

 

"That's what I said to Emhyr, but he was so angry." Geralt shook his head at the memory.

 

"Angry?"

 

"Yeah, thought at one point he was going to order my execution and I was going to have to kill half his guards to get away."

 

Ciri paused with her glass against her lips, "I'm not sure I've ever seen him really angry. Annoyed, yes, but not angry."

 

Geralt shrugged, she knew Emhyr better than he did at this point.

 

"Maybe there is more danger than he's let on," Ciri suggested.

 

"Was Morvran amused at least?"

 

"Shocked, but yes," Ciri smiled a small, private smile, and Geralt was glad for her. No-one should have to spend the rest of their lives with someone who lacked a sense of humour.

 

Perhaps it would not be so bad, Geralt reasoned: he would be able to spend some time with Ciri, eat as much as he wished, and sleep on a real bed each night. He was reasonably sure that Emhyr had not been serious about them sharing a room, so he didn't bother bringing it up with Ciri, even to laugh at the idea.

 

They spent the rest of the day together, Geralt with a book while Ciri read through a seemingly unending stack of reports. Morvran came in at one point, accompanied by a chaperone. Geralt's presence meant Morvran was able to dismiss the young man, and Geralt made a show of being engrossed in his book so that the young couple could have a little privacy for once.

 

It was late by the time he returned to his rooms, and he was dismayed to find that his belongings were nowhere in sight. He debated falling into bed regardless, but Emhyr's clear displeasure from earlier gnawed at him, so he dragged himself to the Emperor's wing and hoped that at least he would have a pallet, rather than just the floor next to Emhyr's bed.

 

Imperial guards seemed to be chosen for their height, sword skills, and ability to convey amusement at another's misfortune without moving a muscle. He could feel their silent laughter with each set of doors that were opened to him as he made his way further into Emhyr's sanctum.

 

A final set of double doors were opened to reveal a great canopied bed, with Emhyr sat up on one side, reading.

 

Geralt looked at the empty side of the bed and sighed. He left his underlayer on, piling the rest of his clothes on one of the innumerable, overstuffed chairs dotted around the room.

 

"I can't believe this is my life," he mumbled to himself as he slid into bed next to Emhyr.

 

"You began this farce, therefore you must also live with its consequences."

 

Geralt stared at him for a moment. "You're enjoying this," he stated, a little disbelieving.

 

"You should be unsurprised to discover that I enjoy inflicting pain, Master Witcher,"

 

Emhyr gave every appearance of being undisturbed by having Geralt in his bed. He turned a page and added, “I’m sure you are by now aware of the seriousness of your error?”

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

“Then you will not be opposed to making some appropriate sounds.”

 

Geralt regarded Emhyr, but he didn't seem to be joking.

 

"What about you?" he couldn't help but ask. "Are you always quiet?"

 

"I am," Emhyr confirmed, still engrossed in his book.

 

Well, then. He rolled onto his back and let out a deep, low moan. He closed his eyes and did it again, before attempting a whimper. It came out a little strained so he tried again, a full octave higher. That one had the kind of tone that would carry, so he took a breath for another—

 

"Yes, thank you," Emyr interrupted. "I'm sure anyone within the perimeter of the Capital has received the message."

 

"I wouldn't want anyone to think that you weren't doing a good job," Geralt said, trying for an innocent look.

 

"If my cock were as big as you had described it to be then I imagine that sobbing would be the more appropriate sound for you to be making," Emhyr commented, turning his attention back to his book.

 

Geralt opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

 

"Do not even think about it," Emhyr said.

 

Geralt grinned, rolled back onto his side and fell into a deep sleep, cradled by soft sheets and silk blankets.

 

 

  


Palace life was more than a little boring. He'd initially found some promising texts in the library, but there was a limit to how much enjoyment he could wring from sedentary activities. A few of the Imperial Guards were happy to spar with him and it didn't take long for his reputation as a sparring partner to spread. The Guards were the elite of the Nilfgaardian army, but they were no match for a Witcher. There was, however, still merit in sparring with them, in that the concentration required not to accidentally slice anyone's limbs off was enough to keep the fights interesting.

 

A few weeks into his stay and he'd managed to lure Ciri away from her duties long enough to have a proper match. He hadn't seen much of her outside of the official events he'd attended, and then his role involved staying as quiet as possible.

 

"I'm sorry, I really didn't think it would go this far," she said once she'd dismissed her attendants.

 

"Eh, it's not so bad," Geralt said, swinging his sword in a wide arc to loosen up his wrist.

 

Ciri boggled at him.

 

"No! I mean, he doesn't snore or anything!"

 

But it was too late, and Ciri was snorting with laughter.

 

If someone had suggested to him a month ago he'd be sharing a bed with Emhyr while debating the finer points of cross-border taxation, he would have given that person a very wide berth. As it was, it really wasn't so bad. Disturbingly so, if he thought about it for more than five minutes at a time, which was why he was determined to avoid any such thing. That wasn't to say that he wasn't counting down the days to the end of the month when the Voorhis’ left and Geralt was free once again.

 

In the end it was rather anticlimactic. House Voorhis took their leave, more than a little annoyed that their main chance to embarrass Emhyr had been taken away from them, if Geralt was any judge. Emhyr had barely looked up long enough to acknowledge Geralt's goodbye, he’d hugged Ciri and had been on his way. Roach had seemed pleased to see him, at least.

 

As he rode he puzzled a little at Emhyr's cool dismissal. He had thought perhaps that sharing a bed with someone for a month would have least made them friends. He'd even managed to make Emhyr laugh. Only twice, but he'd done it. It was well known Emhyr var Emreis did not laugh unless he was bathing in the blood of his enemies. There was even a song about it.

 

Geralt was about a day's ride from the Capital when he realised that he was an idiot: _he’d made Emhyr laugh_. Roach craned her head around as far as she could and gave him a filthy look when he turned her back the way they'd come.

 

"I know," he told her.

 

The journey back was somehow much quicker, and it wasn't long before he was striding down the corridor to Emhyr's study. Someone must have forgotten to inform them that he was no longer the Emperor's concubine, as they opened doors for him with the same alacrity as they had for the last month.

 

"You weren't angry because I had inferred that we were fucking, you were angry because I didn't treat it seriously, because I acted as if it was an impossibility," Geralt announced to the room.

 

Emhyr ignored him for a moment, signing two more sheets of paper before nodding at his assistant, who bowed and then exited the room on silent feet. Emhyr placed his hands flat on his desk as he looked up at where Geralt stood, still dusty from the road.

 

"That is quite a leap, is it not?" he asked, and Geralt knew he had him.

 

"Not really, not for someone who knows you."

 

Emhyr looked away at that, some tightness of expression reminding Geralt of what he'd seen when Emhyr had first discovered his idiocy. Well, Geralt was apparently still realising the depths of his own stupidity. He couldn't believe he'd missed it the first time. Ciri had been right, Emhyr never showed his anger, never showed any emotion unless he allowed himself to. Or he lost some of his vaulted self-control. Geralt's expression must have revealed something of his thinking, as Emhyr drew himself up in his chair.

 

"I have no need of your pity," he seethed.

 

"That's not what this is."

 

Geralt held Emhyr's steady gaze, letting him see Geralt's own regard for him, his own realisation.

 

Emhyr pushed himself up from his chair and stepped around his desk: Geralt met him halfway.


End file.
